


The Wooing of the Moon

by Kieron_ODuibhir



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: (how do laws work in corporate dystopia even? shh.), Angeal is a treasure, Boundaries, Fluff, Genesis is a terrible person but making an effort helps, Humor, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, M/M, Pining, Romance, Sephiroth is socially inept beyond words, Shinra Company, and the fine art of respecting them, at all, everything is Zack's fault, what's the bi dude version of 'life goals or wife goals?'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 04:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9641636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kieron_ODuibhir/pseuds/Kieron_ODuibhir
Summary: Angeal looked up judgmentally over the rim of his coffee cup. “You did kiss him without permission. Twice. That qualifies as sexual assault in several jurisdictions. It’s technically sexual harassment in Midgar.”Genesis’ mouth was hanging open. He didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about that. “Se…shu…” he wheezed.“You need to remember,” Angeal said, “he grew upinShinra Corporation.”(Starring Genesis as someone terrible at romance, Sephiroth as someone almost as bad and far more clueless, and Angeal as the stoically sassy ace friend. Featuring Zack as agent of chaos.)





	1. Waning Gibbous

**Author's Note:**

> ...I wrote a romcom. I can honestly say I never saw this coming.
> 
> :D I went over footage of Crisis Core trying to figure out how someone with a crush would describe Sephiroth, and my conclusion is that his eye makeup is kind of overdone. Like, wow. (Also I'm pretty sure I own Genesis' shade of lipstick.)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a higher than usual standard of communication, but Genesis is still pretty terrible at it.

It was all because when Genesis came home from Wutai, opening one of those yet-again-rare windows of time where for a few weeks all three of Shinra’s top SOLDIERs were in Midgar at once and other Firsts were coordinating the newly reintensifying war effort, Angeal thought it would be a good idea to introduce his oldest friend to the Third he’d decided to mentor.

Lieutenant Fair wasn’t Angeal’s first project—he had an eye for potential and actually _enjoyed_ teaching as something besides an opportunity to subject someone to pithy philosophical lectures, not that he didn’t do that too—but he was the most _pervasive,_ somehow. Like a half-grown dog that no one had smacked often enough, or rubbed its nose in its own messes. He wasn’t precisely insubordinate, but his genuine adoration for Angeal made the fact that his attitude toward Genesis was something along the lines of ‘cautiously prepared to like you’ particularly noticeable. It seemed like arrogance at first brush, but Genesis increasingly suspected that the boy was simply constitutionally incapable of being overawed. Or possibly awed at all.

Angeal was called away on a mission that shouldn’t take more than an hour, and asked Genesis to keep an eye on the _legally adult fifteen-year-old_ while he trained, and make sure he wasn’t slacking off.

Genesis considered the _only_ benefit of teaching to be that people were obliged to listen to you, so he sat in a chair at one corner of the training floor and proceeded to educate Fair about Loveless. At some point this transformed into grumbling about Sephiroth, who had been especially insufferable lately, possibly because Fair looked enough like Angeal to bring his guard down, or possibly because for such a chatterbox he was a genuinely excellent listener.

“You know,” Fair remarked toward the end of the hour, spinning his broadsword over the back of his hand with a quirk to his mouth that said he was determined to get this trick right so many times it became reflex, and he could do it without trying, “I don’t think the General’s seeing anybody. You should make a move.”

Genesis was floored. He managed to keep from showing it on his face. “What.”

“Sephiroth. Ask him out. It sounds like you really care and you’re obviously into him, and Angeal says you’re one of the only people he actually likes to spend time with…I’m just saying, he could do worse.” Fair shrugged, spun the sword up onto his back.

“You gossip worse than a Turk,” Genesis scoffed. Nothing he’d said in the past twenty minutes had remotely sounded like it might convey _really caring_ about Sephiroth, let alone…. “There’s some kind of betting pool, isn’t there. You took the long odds and are trying to rig the outcome.”

“…there probably is a pool, but I’m not in it. Just trying to help a friend.” To complete the surreality of this conversation, the boy swung his arms out in front of him and started _doing squats_ in the middle of it.

Genesis lifted one eyebrow. “When _exactly_ did I agree to be a friend of yours?”

“Aww, Commander Rhapsodos, that’s harsh.” Fair grinned. “Maybe I didn’t mean you. Anyway, hour’s up. I’m gonna go see what’s keeping Angeal!”

Genesis was probably supposed to stop him doing that, but it wasn’t actually his problem and he didn’t care. It occurred to him the final change in topic might have been calculated to prejudice him toward this decision, which would make Fair the anomaly of someone similar to Genesis expertly disguised as a miniature Angeal—but no. Fair was much more high-energy than Angeal had ever been, but he was also an idiot.

He was an _idiot_. Who _didn’t know anything._

-

Genesis had a meeting with Sephiroth that afternoon. Well, with Sephiroth, Scarlet, Heidegger, and five of the latter’s flunkies. It was not productive. It had never had a chance in hell of being productive. The addition of Angeal’s presence would only have given it a candle’s chance in a whirlwind, and Angeal had been sent out again on a tricky-sounding mission halfway to Wutai, and who knew when he’d be back.

The fact that nothing was getting done made it harder than it should have been to keep himself from monitoring Sephiroth in his peripheral vision. His attention kept snapping over whenever there was a shift in the fall of silver. While looking steadfastly at the expense spreadsheets Heidegger’s aides had provided, he found himself comparing the falling timbre of the voice on his left to velvet, and wanted to slap himself. It wasn’t that it wasn’t _accurate,_ or that such similes were unusual in his mental narration, but it was—it was playing into Fair’s practical joke, was what it was.

Heidegger and his minions probably would not notice much of anything if he spent the rest of the meeting glaring at Sephiroth’s profile, but Scarlet and Sephiroth would, and the former would find a way to use it against him. He avoided acting particularly oddly, somehow, though he was certainly irritable, and at the end Heidegger’s minions gathered the papers back together with every sign of satisfaction, as though a total lack of any progress had been their original goal, and then they were all free to go.

“Spar?” Genesis asked on their way out of the conference room.

Sephiroth nodded firmly, which was his version of a ‘ _hell_ yes.’ They headed for the elevator together.

The nice thing about sparring was that it gave Genesis every reason to stare. The hellish thing about sparring was that it gave Genesis _every reason to stare_. Genesis usually liked the Junon Cannon simulation because it was gorgeous and dramatic, but now it was only exacerbating his problem. The sunlight catching on that ridiculous mane and turning it into ribbons of pale fire wasn’t real, but even in natural light he was fairly sure Sephiroth’s lips would still look that soft.

That sheen, as if he had always just licked them, even though Genesis had never actually seen him do so. ( _Lip gloss, do you think?_ he’d joked to Angeal when they were teenagers; Angeal had replied without looking up from his training manual that he was in no position to make fun of other people’s improbable good looks, because Angeal gave simultaneously the best and the worst compliments in the world.)

“You’re distracted,” Sephiroth murmured.

 _You’re distracting._ No, that was entirely the wrong style of repartee for this context. He substituted an attempt to set his partner on fire. (He had occasionally wished this was an acceptable riposte in dinner conversation. He suspected Sephiroth wished it far more often.)

“Something on your mind?”

“…not really.”

He wasn’t fighting at his best. Against almost anyone but Sephiroth, he might still have been winning, but in this fight he had no slack to use up and the distraction meant that even his successes took more effort, and his arms were sore and his magical reserves low well before they should have been.

“Yield?” Sephiroth asked.

Genesis fought to steady his breathing. “Never.” He flung himself forward.

They clashed. Rapier went flying. Genesis mustered the magic to trap Sephiroth between a pair of Earth and Thunder spells, but he leapt out of range of the one and broke most of the other over his blade, and then the Masamune was lying against the side of Genesis’ throat. “Yield?”

He was standing far closer than necessary. With the combination of his reach and his weapon he could easily open a throat from ten feet away. Genesis sneered magnificently. Stepped into the sword, which pulled back as he moved to stay against his neck without parting skin. Reached up and laid one of his gloved hands over Sephiroth’s on the hilt. “ _Never._ ” He pushed the blade aside, wrapped his other hand around one of the straps crossing Sephiroth’s chest, and dragged him in.

-

Genesis missed a meeting. This wasn’t entirely unusual—he engaged in exactly as much truancy as he could get away with, which was at this point rather a lot—but it was a meeting that also had Angeal at it. And Sephiroth. Assuming Sephiroth had attended. He’d arranged to be occupied elsewhere at the last two meetings they were supposed to attend together. The second one had gone rather badly because Genesis was not actually an adequate replacement for the General when not _warned_ he was going to have to substitute for the General. He suspected Sephiroth of premeditated vengeance.

He should have expected the intrusion; was probably lucky Angeal didn’t bring his puppy. If only because Genesis would probably have been entirely successful in setting the Third on fire. As it was, his childhood friend walked in alone on Genesis’ forehead communing with the surface of his table. There was a copy of Loveless beside him, but it hadn’t been as satisfying to reread as usual.

Angeal just stood in the entryway to the small kitchen area that went with First quarters, looking at him. Eventually he said,

“Are you going to tell me why Sephiroth has been avoiding us both for days?”

Genesis mumbled something into the tabletop.

“…now I _know_ it was you. Gen, I haven’t seen your hair like this since we were thirteen. What did you do?”

Genesis raised his head enough to fix one eye on his friend in soulful wrath. “If you must know, I _kissed_ him.”

Angeal pursed his lips, unshipped the sword from his back, and propped it in a corner. “…I have to admit I’m torn between asking _why_ and being surprised it took you this long.”

Genesis raised his head several inches this time, the better to aim a binocular glower. “If you thought this was likely you could have _warned_ me!”

“If anybody deserved a warning, it was Sephiroth.” Angeal drew out Genesis’ other chair and sat down. “I’ve decided, I’m asking why.”

“Ngh,” Genesis told the tabletop, head down again. “I very much doubt you want me to describe my motives.”

“My blanket request not to know about your sex life doesn’t extend to not wanting to know whether you kissed our friend—who is, if you’ve forgotten, also our commanding officer—because you were suddenly smitten or because you thought he would have an interesting reaction.”

“He’s not our _commanding officer_ unless we’re in the field with command of a unit subordinate to one of which he has control,” Genesis retorted, because he had in fact looked this up a long time ago; it was a regulation applying only to the upper three tiers of command and had apparently been enacted in a moment of unusual forethought to in theory ensure multiple viewpoints were reflected in strategy. Angeal was aware of the technicality but considered it far less significant. He waited patiently. “I don’t _know,_ ” Genesis grumbled. “I—his stupid _face,_ ” he complained, which was a level of eloquence he had rarely descended to since roughly the age of eight. He clenched and unclenched his right hand on air as if on an invisible sword. “He. I.”

He’d tasted like steel and mako and, oddly, lemons. He got that bright mocking look in his eye when Genesis came especially close to landing a hit on him and Genesis wanted to kiss the smirk right off his face, he wanted the second hand that Sephiroth only occasionally bothered to use in wielding the Masamune to let go the hilt and close around his waist, he wanted to get a double handful of silver hair and _lick his way_ up the General’s throat, he had _legitimately no idea_ how long he’d been feeling like this but now that he’d noticed he could not _stop._

Damn Lieutenant Fair anyway.

“I _very much wanted to,_ ” was the motivation he felt comfortable verbalizing to Angeal. “And _also_ I wanted him to stop gloating. But mostly. I wanted to.”

“And you’d like the chance to do it again,” Angeal filled in.

“ _Yes._ ”

“But he didn’t react well.”

“No.” It was a blow to his pride, that he had given away his desires in such a—wild, injudicious manner, and then been _rejected._ The fact that Sephiroth really did seem to be avoiding both of them was—he didn’t know if it was a studied insult or mere reflection of personal discomfort, and wasn’t sure which he would prefer.

“Too bad.” Genesis must have looked surprised, because Angeal said, “You’re both my friends, I’d prefer you make each other happy than the opposite.”

Which of course just made Genesis feel worse, took him past the sting and excruciating embarrassment and the sick feeling of having ruined a friendship and into the thought of how actually yes, it _would_ have been _very_ nice if Sephiroth had been in favor of Fair’s terrible idea, and of how he had lost that pleasant potential future before he’d even had a chance to fully conceptualize it. He dropped his head onto the table again. “He’s not _speaking_ to me, Angeal.”

He would have liked to find and crush the confluence of circumstances that had brought him to this point, maudlin in his own kitchen over destroying a relationship he would until a few days ago have claimed not to care about. _The arrow has left the bow of the Goddess,_ he told himself. There was only the future.

“Seems like an overreaction.”

Genesis blinked. It did, actually. Now that he thought about it. It really seemed more in-character for Sephiroth to be pretending nothing had happened. A certain chilliness would have been unsurprising, but the blatant _avoidance—_ “Did he attend today’s meeting at all?” Genesis asked, sitting up straight.

“He came. He avoided addressing me directly and wouldn’t meet my eyes. He was subtle about it,” Angeal shrugged. “As much he could be. But it’s a hard sort of thing not to notice. He pretended not to hear me when I asked him for a word.”

“Curious.”

“He hasn’t done that to you?”

“He’s pretty handily avoided being in the same room as me.” Not that Genesis hadn’t been supporting him in that quest. He definitely hadn’t tried to draw him into a private conversation. “…that’s fairly dramatic of him, isn’t it.”

“Mm.”

“I mean, if he’s that upset you’d think he’d confront me about it.” Possibly Sephiroth was mortified with embarrassment? That might be a slightly less awful reason for his behavior. One that reflected less on Genesis, anyway, even if it did not bode well for his prospects.

Angeal’s first two fingers tapped slowly on the table. “Do you think he minds especially that you’re a man?”

Genesis shrugged. His own preference was most often for women, and without SOLDIER strength might have been nearly exclusive—he liked partners that were not submissive but let him retain control, which was a dynamic more easily negotiated when one could lift all prospective partners off the floor one-handed without significant effort. It might be possible to wrongfoot Sephiroth into leaving him in control throughout one encounter, but he certainly wouldn’t stand for it in the long term, which just raised again the issue of how unspeakably _frustrating_ this situation was. “I suppose it’s possible.”

“We still don’t know where he’s from,” Angeal pointed out.

A question relevant because opinions of this permutation of romance varied across the surface of the world, but generally lowered the further you went north and west, where it ran up against some odd and rigid standards of masculinity. (Until of course you reached Wutai where same-sex relationships were considered the preferred form of adultery since they didn’t risk blurring anyone’s lineage.) It was generally regarded as very romantic but not quite _correct_ in Banora, a combination which had admittedly always vaguely appealed to Genesis, and perfectly normal across the straits in the lava plateaus south of the Mythril Mountains.

Midgar was a very cosmopolitan city, with the result that the balance of the population felt it best to politely pretend relationships between men were not romantic in nature whether they were or not, unless specifically informed otherwise, and gossip furiously behind closed doors, while anyone who considered being openly _offended_ by them no matter how obvious (short of public indecency) was scorned as a provincial boor.

Sephiroth might well object to giving the public yet another subject for gossip. He could be a prig like that.

“True,” Genesis allowed.

“But we _do_ know the Science Department had custody of him by the time he was ten, if not earlier. Which means he’s spent over half his life around Hojo.”

This was an excellent point. Hojo (whose opinions on the world Sephiroth periodically repeated verbatim when he had none of his own, or even occasionally alongside ones he did, which was a curious relationship to have to someone you so clearly despised) was so utterly unromantic as to have a minor vendetta against overly sentimental _turns of phrase_ being applied to any subject at all germane to his interests. Including to Genesis' certain knowledge materia, natural parturition, and electric lighting. Genesis pursed his lips in disgust. “So he might not believe in…fraternization.”

The good news there was that Sephiroth did not actually _like_ agreeing with Hojo, and if you gave him a good rationale for an alternate belief would probably seize on it immediately.

Angeal shrugged. “Or, you know, he might just be confused. I don’t know exactly what happened but I’m willing to bet you didn’t exactly recite a treatise on your motives.”

Genesis snorted. “At that point my motives were approximately as coherent as anything your pup says—by the way, if _you_ saw this coming is it _your_ fault he decided Sephiroth and I would make a charming item?”

“…Zack said that?” Angeal shook his head. “We don’t talk about our personal business. He didn’t know we were friends until you dropped by that day.”

Genesis shrugged. He guessed it was still possible Angeal had influenced the boy subliminally somehow, but he was forced to entertain the possibility that he’d been telegraphing an interest he hadn’t consciously acknowledged. Maybe he should be grateful Sephiroth was so socially inept; he was more or less certain the General, at least, had been taken entirely by surprise. Not that that had necessarily been to his advantage, but it salved his pride.

 _Everyone_ knew Sephiroth was gorgeous, but you could notice that without...taking it personally, as it were. But of course Genesis took _his rival_ personally. No wonder Angeal at least had expected him to eventually...

He drummed his fingernails on the table. “So we’ve established that his upset could be with some aspect of my person, with my approach, or with the entire category of interaction.” Genesis snorted at the uselessness, but the fact was that having put it all into categories rendered it a strategic problem he could take steps to address, rather than a morass of failure and rejection threatening to swallow him alive. “Shyness I can deal with. Confusion I can deal with. Hojo I can deal with. The rest of it…”

“Whatever the problem is, you know you have to talk to him.”

Genesis scowled. “The wandering soul knows no rest.”

“Stop pouting. We don’t know what Sephiroth’s problem is. We don’t know enough to guess. So the only question you have left that you can answer _right now_ is do you want to try again, or do you want things to go back to normal? If you try for both I think you’ll go down in flames.” Angeal’s mouth pulled up on one side. “Maybe literally.”

Genesis clicked his tongue. “What kind of question is that? Of course I’m trying again.” With those as the choices, he had no real option. They couldn’t return to the previous status quo even if he could persuade Sephiroth to try, because then there would still be Genesis, acutely aware of _wanting._ He had never been much for holding back when he had a goal.

“This is part of your dream now?” Angeal asked. He was smiling _at_ Genesis now, which wasn’t usual—they’d always been the sort of friends who laughed at each other more often than they smiled; this was an expression Angeal was normally more likely to wear looking off into the distance thinking about the future of the world or talking about his latest project, and even then not that often.

Genesis hesitated. Because his dreams had always been of greatness, of recognition and of power and this seemed—incompatible, somehow. It wasn’t that winning Sephiroth would somehow make him unsurpassable—if anything, it would bring them nearer level—but it was still…a distraction. A complication. “I want this,” he said. Let his eyes close. Pictured green ones, with upright pupils, pale and intent. “ _Very much,_ ” he repeated. He’d been doing his best to push it aside the past few days, ever since his first move had met with rejection, but after all this time talking about why he might not be able to have what he wanted the yearning was aching all the way up his torso and in the palms of his hands. He opened his eyes again.

Angeal let out a long breath, and when he was done his smile came back a little different. “You know I have your back,” he said, which was accurate. Genesis had never questioned that certainty. “But I’m his friend, too, so I have to say…if there’s a good chance what you’re looking for with this is one of those no-strings flings of yours, you should drop it now and move on. Let it go.” With this thoroughly unsupportive friendly advice, he patted Genesis on the shoulder, retrieved his sword from the corner, and left, probably to go do paperwork or something, like the disgustingly responsible sort of person he was.

Genesis bounced his forehead off the table a few more times after Angeal was gone. As if it was even _possible_ to have a no-strings hookup with a close coworker you saw on a regular basis. Well, it probably was possible, but it would require both parties to take an exceptionally casual approach to sex. Genesis was fairly sure _he_ wasn’t that casual about sex. And Sephiroth…Sephiroth wasn’t casual about anything.

He spent a little longer coddling his sore forehead and muttering about Sephiroth turning every little thing into a dramatic production, until the irony became too much even for him and he pulled himself together and went to have a shower. Angeal was right, his hair was dreadful. He wouldn’t be seducing anybody looking like this.

-

It took him a few days to get around to the conversation. This was only a little bit procrastination; much more significantly Sephiroth was still making himself scarce, and the few times Genesis came close to catching him alone they were interrupted. There was certainly no way he was having this conversation with an _audience._

If he waited too long, though, one of them would be sent back to Wutai, which would be a long-term posting short of the war abruptly coming to an end, and if this went unresolved a full month or two the end result might be nothing more than an unsalvageable former friendship. Unacceptable.

Sephiroth was wily, but Genesis was wilier, and once he really set himself to guessing where the General might be going to avoid him, his ambush was simplicity itself. Moving before sunrise to minimize unwanted encounters was a standard. He let himself into a training room on floor 49 to find Sephiroth in a highly convincing simulation of the Northern Continent, fighting off the onslaught of an absurd number of ice wolves. Genesis waited until they had all been dispatched to cancel the training sequence, and as the ice and snow melted into green light and then into nothing around them, he deliberately stayed between his friend and the exit.

“Listen, Sephiroth…” Genesis crossed the floor toward the Silver General, and the Masamune stayed low at his side. Sephiroth was turned slightly away from him, chin lowered, and the glance he gave him was slanted across his own cheekbone as though out of a cave. “I think we should talk.”

Sephiroth acknowledged this assertion with a blink.

“Are you willing?” Genesis prodded.

Sephiroth shrugged, a small gesture multiplied by his wide silver pauldrons. “Talk.”

The plural pronoun had been very intentional, but if Sephiroth wanted him to take the initial plunge Genesis couldn’t say it was unreasonable. “About our training session last week.”

“You weren’t up to your usual standard,” Sephiroth observed tonelessly.

Genesis was aware of an initial outrage, and a temptation to challenge Sephiroth to another match here and now. But over that was layered calculation. Would it help, if they had another spar? Reestablish the terms of their relationship on safe pillars? Was Sephiroth _trying_ to provoke him? But as Angeal had said, possible literal flames. Mixed messages could only make this worse. Genesis smirked. “You were distracting.” He moved forward again, feeling out Sephiroth’s reaction. He held his ground. “Don’t you think there was something a little more noteworthy that day than just another fight?”

Sephiroth shrugged. “You were trying to be distracting.”

Well, then. “Hardly just that.” Genesis ducked in, stretched up, and stole another kiss. This one was glancing and crooked, because while Sephiroth notably did not dodge, he didn’t stand still and let it keep happening either. “I hope you didn’t think I didn’t _mean_ it,” Genesis said, gazing up through his eyelashes. The difference in their heights was an aggravation, but he knew for a fact that he had gorgeous eyelashes and at least he was getting a chance to use them.

Sephiroth’s voice was remote and frosty, and he’d turned away ninety degrees, so Genesis could only see his profile. It seemed as though he had never been so distant, at exactly the moment Genesis wanted him to _look at him_ like he never had before, and he had been wanting that ever since they met. “My questions center around what you meant _by_ it.”

This wording was a marvelous feat of ambiguity. ‘What do you mean by’ could be asking after Genesis’ intentions, or it could be an even more genteel approach to ‘how dare you.’ Since it was Sephiroth, the odds were roughly even on whether he did this on purpose. The coldness still stung.

“What I meant…” Genesis echoed thoughtfully. “What else could I mean? I wanted to kiss you.”

“And since you wanted it, you took action.”

“Of course. You know my opinions on irresolution.”

Sephiroth frowned. So did Genesis. This was not going well. This noncommittal detachment was starting to be far more annoying than any of the careless slights against his power that were the usual consequence of too much time around Sephiroth. He needed to scout his terrain. “But we know what I want,” he said, making his lips curl up warmly. “You should talk, too.”

“I have nothing to say.”

Genesis frowned harder than before, at that blandness. At this point he was willing to settle for any strong reaction at all. “Your reaction is too negative," he declared. "Is it just me you object to, or are you that offended to be approached by a _man?_ ”

Sephiroth sheathed his sword. “Not at all. You may make use of as many men in such capacity as you see fit without censure. I myself am unavailable.”

Genesis was gaping again. “What is that supposed to—“ Sephiroth strode out of the training room and the door slid closed behind him.

Somehow this felt both exactly the same and _much, much worse_ than any time a challenge made in the fierce spirit of rivalry had been met with cool equanimity. Did he even _care?_

-

It was still half an hour before dawn. This did not occur to Genesis as potentially relevant until he had already let himself into Angeal’s quarters, but when he burst into Angeal’s bedroom he sat bolt upright and seemed alert, so he didn’t worry about his timing. “‘Unavailable!’ he says,” Genesis expostulated. “Is that no? It sounds like no, right? But he wants to know ‘what I meant by it!’ What does that _mean?_ Does he want me to explain myself in detail? Does he want me to declare it was all a misunderstanding? How am I supposed to determine what he means by wanting to know what _I_ mean? We could go in circles for eternity that way!”

Angeal held up both his hands, as if he could physically stem the tide of words, and after several seconds Genesis acknowledged the gesture with a, “Yes, what?”

“Gen. It is…four-thirty-seven in the morning. I will deal with your crisis once I have some coffee.”

Genesis was so determined to get useful advice that he filled and started Angeal’s coffee maker while his friend rolled out of bed and washed his face.

“Alright,” said Angeal, with the waspish infinite patience Genesis always expected of him, once he was settled at his kitchen table with a hot black mug. “From the top.”

Genesis launched into his rant again, longer but somewhat better streamlined and chronologically arranged. Angeal’s kitchen was not large enough to pace properly; he paced anyway. By the time he finished Angeal was more than halfway through his coffee and the furrow between his eyebrows had gone from sleepy to thoughtful.

“Hm,” Angeal said. “Let’s go over his exact words. He said that…”

Genesis prided himself on his verbal recall. Even when he wasn’t strictly paying attention he could generally repeat what he had just heard with considerable exactitude—a skill he had used to stymie their schoolteacher in Banora while reading under the desk—and he had certainly been paying attention this morning. “That I could ‘make use of as many men’ as I pleased ‘without censure’ but he himself was ‘not available.’ What does he think I _do_ in my off-hours, attend orgies?”

“In between performances, maybe.”

Genesis scowled at his best friend, who had no right to be deriving amusement from his pain. “ _Angeal._ ”

Angeal swallowed the last of his coffee and got up to pour another cup. “That is a strange choice of words, though,” he mused. “Make use of. And why ‘unavailable?’”

Genesis flung his hands wide to emphasize his own bewilderment. “I don’t know! If he’s taken, he is doing an _extraordinarily good job_ of hiding it!”

Angeal’s hand had gone still in the air. It wasn’t noticeable until his mug began to overflow, at which point he seemed to shake himself out of it, lifted the cup again, sipped the excess away from the rim, and wiped up the small mess with a paper towel, which he of course threw away afterward. (Angeal was the ideal roommate. Genesis spoke from experience.) “ _What?_ ” Genesis demanded, since his friend had clearly had a revelation.

“I don’t think he knows you’re approaching him romantically,” was the announcement. Angeal carried his cup back to his seat at the table in the silence it provoked, and sat back down, kneading at one temple as he did so.

“…what?” asked Genesis at length. He didn’t really see what space for ambiguity his _passionate interlocking of lips_ had allowed.

“I think,” said Angeal, “he believes you’re interested on a purely physical level. He’s offended because he sees this as an attempt to exploit him, or possibly to take advantage of your friendship. To get into his pants.”

Well, he couldn’t blame Sephiroth for being a little uncertain what he had wanted to begin with, considering how confused _Genesis_ had been, but he thought he’d made himself fairly clear today. Of course, even with that untouchable aura the man projected, he couldn’t be the first person to make a move on someone who had undoubtedly been strikingly good-looking all his life and was currently working his way up, via the tireless march of Shinra’s propaganda machine, toward the status of foremost living sex symbol on the Planet. He should have taken that into consideration.

“I’m hardly one of his brainless fans,” he groused anyway.

Angeal looked up judgmentally over the rim of his coffee cup. “You did kiss him without permission. Twice. That qualifies as sexual assault in several jurisdictions. It’s technically sexual harassment in Midgar.”

Genesis’ mouth was hanging open. He didn’t have the presence of mind to do anything about that. “Se…shu…” he wheezed. It was just. Not only the absurdity of anyone doing something like that to _Sephiroth,_ but the idea that _he_ could have—

“You need to remember,” Angeal said, “he grew up _in_ Shinra Corporation.”

Genesis held up a hand for time and squeezed his eyes shut, tired of resembling a beached fish even in front of his oldest friend. So there was a very real possibility Sephiroth regarded his—admittedly ill-timed and poorly articulated—romantic confession as belonging in the same category as the President’s habit of grabbing the secretaries’ behinds.

Genesis would be even more offended if not for the fact that in this scenario, Sephiroth had cast himself as the _secretary._

He’d often wished Sephiroth regarded him as a real threat, but this had _not_ been what he meant.

“Right,” he said after a few seconds, letting the hand fall. “Hojo and the President. No wonder he has no idea what to make of me.” It was entirely possible the _only depiction_ of romance as-such Sephiroth had _ever been exposed to_ was when Genesis dragged him to productions of Loveless. And frankly the Prisoner’s romantic plotline, while moving and eloquent and the framing device, was heavily subordinate to the larger plot, highly stylized, and entirely atypical. “I may need to communicate my intentions with words. Don’t make such an expression,” he added, which made Angeal snort and apply himself more intently to his mug. “I am _excellent_ with words.”

“Mm.” Angeal was excellent at conveying dubious agreement _without_ words.

Genesis would show him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone was in doubt, he did not remotely make himself clear. 
> 
> Sephiroth does that 'repeating Hojo's opinions verbatim' thing during the Nibelheim flashback, when they're checking out the mako fountain. He also trash talks Hojo a lot in the same flashback. 
> 
> It's a complicated relationship. Even as relationships with abusive fathers go, Sephiroth's is weird.
> 
> Angeal is a loyal company man (or at least a loyal SOLDIER, which appears to have a delicate distinction in meaning despite being functionally identical) but he is aware that most of its executives are pretty obnoxious and corrupt because I can't imagine how he could _avoid_ noticing. You can be a dedicated member of the US Army and hate all politicians and most of the brass, so I assume the cognitive dissonance works itself out somehow.


	2. Waxing Crescent

Genesis planned out their next meeting much more carefully. Clearly there were considerations at hand other than mere privacy—this was a delicate operation and deserved as much tactical preparation as any assault.

Considered putting more effort into making sure Sephiroth _couldn’t_ leave before they were done talking, but practically speaking there were very few ways to force Sephiroth to do anything he determinedly did not want to do. Shinra was lucky the man was so self-disciplined. Besides, force couldn’t win the day for him here even if he’d been twice as powerful as he was.

He waited until Sephiroth took a mission, instead—the zoloms out in the eastern marshes were overbreeding, and while the population would die back naturally from overhunting eventually, first the hungry apex predators would go after the caravans to and from the Mythril Mines, and possibly even go on raids into the grasslands. Allowing giant monsters to attack farms and eat people and chocobos would look bad for Shinra, and the most efficient way to handle something like a zolom was a SOLDIER First or two. Talking outside the Shinra building appealed, for more than one reason.

The fact that his remarks were much less likely to be recorded by Turks didn’t hurt.

Genesis caught up with Sephiroth at the edge of the marsh. There were streaks of snake blood on his weapon, though no sign of a corpse, and the faintest traces of mud on his boots. He’d already taken out at least one of his targets, but he was standing on the solid ground, soft grass bending underfoot and proving he was not an apparition. The Marshes looked more pleasant from outside, where you could barely smell them, with the early morning light picking up the soft greens of the vegetation that grew out of the muck, splashes of purple and gold where flowers bloomed, silver mist that hadn’t yet burnt off in the heat of day. Shifting glints of light played off the stretches of open water as wisps of cloud blew over the sun.

Sephiroth had been dropped off by a helicopter; Genesis had signed out a truck, but he’d left it half a mile away and proceeded on foot. It made for a better entrance. He knew Sephiroth had heard him long before he announced himself—he didn’t turn, but he didn’t walk away, either, which was invitation enough.

“'Even if the morrow is barren of promise, nothing shall forestall my return.'”

Sephiroth turned, then, and looked at him, and didn’t quote the act. “Genesis.”

The General had never given away much in his expression, even when they’d all been much younger, but Genesis thought it seemed more guarded now. Sexual harassment, Angeal had said. “I want to apologize,” Genesis said. Entirely against his natural inclinations, but what he wanted clearly could not be won by mere force of personality, and…he regretted the error, so apologizing wasn’t an unacceptable course of action. “For kissing you without your permission.”

Sephiroth tilted his head a little. The line and weight of the hair down his back tended to constrain such gestures, Genesis had noticed, a probably instinctive urge toward balance keeping Sephiroth’s head much more on a single vertical plane than most people’s tended to be. “…you won’t do it again,” he said. Not quite a question.

“Not if you mind,” said Genesis.

“Then it’s forgiven.”

Genesis felt himself lose tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying. “Excellent.”

Silence briefly reigned. Well, not silence—there was wind ruffling the grass and rustling the reeds, and the peeps and trills of swamp birds starting up again as the marsh’s inhabitants recovered from the brief but intense drama that Sephiroth killing zoloms had undoubtedly been. But nobody spoke.

Making his intended regret that grant of forgiveness would be disastrous. But he refused to let things end there. Genesis might have his shortcomings, but lack of nerve had never been among them. “Do you suppose,” he asked quietly, “that I will ever gain permission?”

Sephiroth’s eyes widened, very slightly. As if somehow that was the _last_ thing he’d expected to hear. The Masamune, hanging at his side and stretching back in its absurd expanse, angled a little further upward as his grasp on it must have tightened, though otherwise he seemed unmoved. “I thought I told you to abandon this.”

And yes, it was true, this was a stumbling-block: Sephiroth had, technically, already told him no. At a time when it was unclear if he’d known just what Genesis was asking—he still might not know—but he _had_ been rejected. That was in itself fairly minor. Minds changed, especially with new information. Sephiroth just had to be persuaded that his reasons for saying no were untrue, or insufficient, or simply _bad_ reasons.

The great difficulty was that Genesis’ usual arsenal of seduction revolved around being beautiful, talented, and powerful. Most of his conquests had also been beautiful, and most had been talented—actors, actresses, dancers—and a few in some sense powerful—businesswomen, mostly, with at least moderately broad influence. His normal methods were difficult to apply toward someone who by general agreement matched or exceeded him in all three categories.

It wasn’t as though Sephiroth’s own qualities stopped Genesis from being an excellent catch. But in this situation he was forced to rely on what he had always considered more of a tactical uniting element than a point of appeal in its own right: he was _charming._ He tilted his head a little, catching the real daylight on the planes of his face at the most flattering angle and making it wink off his earring, and let his eyes widen a little bit, soulfully.

“I have to know the terms of my rejection before I can accept it. Is it me in particular you find unattractive, or men in general, or do you not trust my intentions, or are your affections perhaps engaged elsewhere?”

The third was potentially soluble, the second acceptable, the first would be a blow but also reason enough to abandon the whole idea, and the fourth—well, honestly it would almost be worth his own failure to be made aware that Sephiroth was victim to a hopeless crush that he would undoubtedly never, ever act upon.

(Being brought into the circle of confidence surrounding some extremely well-kept secret relationship would be gratifying in its own way, because Genesis adored knowing secrets, but in that scenario jealousy might very well _eat him alive._ )

Sephiroth had made no move to answer, and Genesis prodded further. “You told me you were unavailable. I find I can’t rest until I understand better what that means.”

Sephiroth’s mouth tightened. And Genesis tried not to let his eyes linger on it, or his mind on how much he wanted it on his and how… _anxious_ he was at the idea that this might never happen again. “Hm,” Sephiroth said, and, “…I don’t have time for such things. My obligations to Shinra are extensive.”

Sephiroth was used to being admired. He was used to being _wanted._ He didn’t find it flattering. He found it burdensome. “I am not one of your _fans!_ ” Genesis snapped. Sephiroth’s job was not _that_ much more onerous than his own, he was in a position to know, and furthermore while dating colleagues might be bad for unit cohesion it _did_ make scheduling relationships around work simpler. For much the same reasons coworkers so often became a default social circle. “Supposedly we are _friends._ I am not going to be put off with a noncommittal sound and a reference to your career like another face in the crowd!”

“You proclaimed yourself my rival seven years ago.”

Genesis had no idea what significance the number of years was supposed to have—or what relevance the statement as a whole, unless it was to imply that Genesis’ admittedly unreciprocated sense of rivalry was _just as ridiculous_ as anything dreamed up by the Silver Elite. How dare he stand there gleaming in the sunshine with the wind in his hair, like a sculpture of the hero of the dawn, being judgmental? He was so sick of this man belittling him, throwing his feelings back in his face. He wanted to claw Sephiroth’s face off. He would settle for his clothes.

He took a breath. He was _excellent_ with words. “What does _that_ have to do with my proposal of a _trusting and mutually beneficial_ romantic connection between us?”

Sephiroth’s eyebrows lowered slightly. That was obviously not on his script.

“Are we friends or aren’t we? Sephiroth!”

“We…are.”

Genesis had never been much inclined to gossip.

Or rather, he liked to listen to it, occasionally; the information could be useful and was often entertaining. He didn’t usually _contribute_ unless there was someone who really needed taking down a peg, or he happened to know something particularly funny, or most often when those states intersected. But talking about Sephiroth behind his back with Angeal, since that first kiss, had broadened his perspective more than he’d realized, because now as the General struggled with his words Genesis saw…not the unbreachable wall of perfection Sephiroth had always been, but the results of spending far too long subject to Hojo’s sick whims, a distrust so deeply ingrained he was helpless to verbalize it. And found his anger melting.

“So believe me,” he said, more gently than he'd meant to. “I want to kiss you _properly._ And spar with you until I manage to drop a Comet on your head and flatten you to the training floor, and then help you patch yourself up. And—take you out for dinner at the sort of restaurant where they’ll expect even you to follow the dress code. I even want to hold your hand under the table at a meeting and see if anyone has the nerve to say anything.

“And if those aren’t things you want, then that’s…well, perhaps not fine. But such is the burden of the suitor. My heart will absorb the blow somehow.” He laid a hand over it, all theatre, and Sephiroth rolled his eyes. Put his sword away.

“Enduring torment, hm.” Sephiroth took a step closer to Genesis, and his eyes were narrow. “Why.”

The oblique Loveless reference made Genesis smile. “For the sake of true romance, why else?”

“ _Genesis._ We’ve known each other for a long time. This, now… _why?_ ”

Sephiroth would be quick to assume that Genesis’ advances were exploitative. That had been the gist of Angeal’s theory and it seemed to be a good one. Which meant Genesis had sought out some of the least sexual things he wanted from him, to share first. There would be time to work up to suggestions like ‘get a room together in a resort town and not leave the bed for three days.’

What he said next had to be believable. And considering that Sephiroth knew him rather well and was paranoid, that left little room for confabulation. But the unfiltered truth rarely won any adherents, let alone a heart. Then again, faint heart won far less still. “Because…” Genesis paused, only half for dramatic effect, and moistened his lips. “You make my heart beat faster. You make me feel more alive, and you make me want to be better than I am.”

All of which had been true to some extent long before he’d realized just how he wanted to lay Shinra’s glittering hero out and study every inch of him in exquisite detail.

The wind kicked up from the north in a scent of grass, eddied around Sephiroth enough to lift a few bright locks of his hair and carry to Genesis a gust of shampoo and mud and metal and monster blood that probably shouldn't be pleasant. But it was Sephiroth. He was so _strong_ , and before these past few weeks that had been his primary trait in Genesis' eyes but it was almost surprising to remember it now, that he was so taken with, was dangerously close to falling in love with, was working for reciprocation from one of the most powerful fighters on the Planet. Surprising, but...not dissuasive.

Genesis had spent a long time resenting Sephiroth, and lamented everything about him from his brutal, unpoetic fighting style to his absurd height, but there was a beauty to those stark, efficient movements, and beauty and power met in the middle just as they ought. That was something else to think about. United, who could stand against their strength? Genesis and Angeal together had never defeated Sephiroth. Genesis and Sephiroth together could fight all of SOLDIER and expect to win.

It was not that he had any particular ambition that would require doing so, but the thought that they _could..._

“I can’t take my eyes off you,” he admitted. Maybe he never had been able to. “Recently, I realized…that envy was no longer the first thing in my mind, when I saw how…lovely you are.” He didn’t have to admit just how recently. He couldn’t read Sephiroth’s face, couldn’t tell if that had made a good impression, and perhaps that would have cowed a lesser man but it goaded him on instead.

A last piece of the truth, his trump card and his largest gamble. _Gently, and certainly._ “I want you to be looking at me the way I look at you.”

“…and how is that?”

Goddess, he was glad they were away from the Shinra building. (He supposed the Turks could have Sephiroth himself bugged, but why would they? He was supposed to be out here alone. Short of suspecting him, of all people, of collaborating with Wutaian spies, there would be no _reason._ ) Genesis almost licked his lips again, then thought better of it. Made sure he had Sephiroth’s eyes on his. “Like something unbearably…precious.”

Like a gift, he thought, almost wryly. But one that might not be meant for him.

Sephiroth took another step forward. His gaze was narrow and intent and his expression unreadable, but his eyes flicked over Genesis’ face in a way that did not feel like anger.

“There is no hate,” Genesis proposed. “Only joy.”

“Don’t.”

And with that implicit slur upon the sanctity and perpetual pertinence of _Loveless,_ Sephiroth bent his head and put their mouths together.

Sephiroth had no idea what he was doing. Sephiroth had no earthly idea what he was doing, and _Genesis was still enjoying himself immensely._ He was so done for. He tipped his head and kissed back, trying to nudge his partner toward better technique. It worked admirably. The hot twisting in his abdomen was latched tightly to the chills racing up his spine, and he kept his tongue in his own mouth only through strict reminders that this was an attempt to court a delicate (or at least _very very virginal_ ) flower, and he was _not_ a corpulent old man grabbing whatever he liked from whoever was available. His fingers tangled in the edge of the long black coat, but he didn’t pull.

His tongue still flicked out, once, but it just ran itself rapidly across Sephiroth’s lower lip before darting back again. No taste of zolom, thankfully. Mako still, and steel, and…this time _vanilla._

Sephiroth straightened up before the kiss could go on long enough for its chastity to become truly maddening, and looked down at Genesis across roughly the same amount of space that was usually between them when their swords locked, though noticeably without the swords. Blinked once. “Hm.”

Genesis’ left hand raised itself without conscious decision on his part and splayed itself across his brow, each fingertip alighting with elegance. He only just stopped it from landing more as a claw of frustration, and certainly didn’t keep the overwrought note out of his voice in echoing, “‘ _Hm?’_ That’s _all you have to say?!_ ”

Sephiroth looked aside, but there was a smile pulling at his mouth, and. Well, Genesis was certainly paying more attention to his mouth these days, but he hadn’t realized just how much his rival did smile around him and Angeal until he’d stopped. It was nice to see it again. (It was better than _nice,_ it did marvelous things to his face, and _Goddess_ Genesis was _mooning_.) “No matter what I say, you’re going to keep pursuing this, aren’t you.”

Genesis blinked. “No,” he said firmly, with lips that still tingled and wanted him to take the statement back, “I want a reason you rejected me that I know isn’t a misunderstanding I can clear up, and then I’ll let it go.” One he actually believed, he qualified mentally. After that kiss he was no longer sure he was willing to be easily convinced that Sephiroth was incapable of attraction to men.

Sephiroth’s eyes narrowed a little, from the outside corners, a look that usually came when he didn’t understand something one of them had said or done but was making an effort. Genesis was fond of it for _not_ being the flatter look that said Genesis made no sense and it wasn’t worth trying to figure him out. “I always appreciated that you kept coming back.” Eyes cut toward Genesis again, slight pull at the corners of his mouth. “Even when you were especially annoying.”

Genesis opened his mouth to protest that characterization of himself, but caught up with the first statement and its implications before the protest became vocalized, and said instead, “You _want_ me to pursue you against your stated wishes?” It came out with the bulk of his honest incredulity in the tone. The surprising warmth of learning that he had been _wanted_ , to some degree, this whole while, could not compete with the idea that Sephiroth— _Sephiroth!_ —might be intentionally _playing hard to get._

“No,” said Sephiroth, with an emphasis that convinced Genesis he had not in fact misinterpreted the last week and a half by failing to notice some extremely masculine form of coyness. He shifted his weight aside, onto his rear foot, pulling away without actually stepping back, and staring out along the margin of the marshes. “But that your giving up might mean your removing yourself is…annoying.”

Annoying might be the wrong word. The right word for the feeling might be some combination of ‘disappointed in you as a person’ and…sad.

He had the power to make Sephiroth _sad._

Genesis might have been smiling at an inappropriate moment. “I am not going to stop having time for you if you reject my suit,” he declared firmly. Allowed himself a full wicked grin. “And should we ever go on a date, I promise I will still respect you in the morning.” He had lost all sense of what his odds of victory were, but retained the awareness that presuming anything more intimate than a hypothetical date would not help his case.

Sephiroth’s eyebrows arched, but he'd stopped looking away. “I wasn’t aware you respected me in the first place.” Genesis had no idea what to make of that statement, dry as it was but not comprehensibly sarcasm, and it must have shown, because Sephiroth pointed out, “It’s been your stated intention for _years_ to overthrow me and take my place.”

“Well, yes,” Genesis admitted, as bizarre a choice of words to describe his quest to become the world's most widely lauded hero as this might be, “but there’s no point in having a rival you don’t respect. That defeats the whole _purpose._ ”

Sephiroth seemed briefly baffled by this information, eyebrows drawing down fractionally. Then he heaved a small sigh. “I suppose that makes my impatience with the idea disrespectful,” he said. Shrugged. “But there are few things quite as _useless_ as envy.”

Annoyance flared in Genesis’ chest, hot and bitter, but he put it aside. “I don’t know about that,” he said, leaning in a little because neither of them had gone anywhere after the kiss so they were still standing close, and it took very little to turn that proximity suggestive. “After all, it’s one of the things that kept me coming back.”

Amusement pulled at one corner of Sephiroth’s mouth, very faintly. “Maybe if it reminded me less of Hojo I’d find it more endearing.”

Genesis gave a delicate shudder that was not entirely put-on. “Please don’t tell me you think I resemble that man.”

“No,” Sephiroth said after a rather nerve-wracking few seconds. “Not really.”

Even _not really_ was entirely too much, and Genesis didn’t want to ask how, in case that locked whatever perception it was into place and made it part of his character in Sephiroth’s eyes forever. He could guess, anyway. He didn’t know who Hojo had to envy, but he did realize the man was driven, in his neurotic way. That he liked to take credit for Sephiroth’s accomplishments like a particularly obnoxious washed-up parent of a brilliant child. Ambition, he'd been told before, could be an ugly thing.

But they were friends. Right?

Not quite sure why, Genesis reached up, his gloved fingertips brushing across Sephiroth’s cheek, and pushed his hair back. The way his bangs fell had never really obscured his vision to any exploitable degree, but in this moment it had felt almost like he was hiding behind them anyway. Genesis brushed them back from the right half of Sephiroth’s face and tried to see if they would hook behind his ear. It didn’t work—what was rooted in the middle was too short to reach, and most of the rest leapt free again as soon as Genesis removed his hand, too fixed in its ways to be easily held to a different angle. A few locks stayed in place, though, and the effect was only a very subtle change in his appearance—a smooth line of silver running back from the temple to vanish under the fall of his long loose hair.

It was a change, though. A visible alteration that might as well be a banner across the sky to prove better than the memory of a kiss still fizzing under his skin that Sephiroth was not truly untouchable. Not to him.

Genesis gazed up through his eyelashes. “Be mine,” he whispered, like a secret, like a joke, and like a promise, “and I’ll love you forever.”

He wasn’t prepared for the way Sephiroth’s pupils flared open until they looked almost round, as he stopped breathing.

That was just for a second, but—Genesis wondered if Sephiroth had never heard the way children talked, didn’t understand how tongue-in-cheek that wording should have been. If he was taking it literally. He blinked again, a little slow and almost—fluttering, so the charcoal smudge of his lashes brushed his cheeks. Because Sephiroth was the sort of beautiful person who had hair that pale and eyelashes that dark, because life was deeply unfair.

Genesis decided to never, ever admit it had been even partially a joke.

-

Genesis let himself into Angeal’s office, closed the door behind him, locked it, and draped himself over the loveseat in the corner. He was fairly sure this was a position often occupied by Angeal’s adopted puppy, but _he_ occupied it with infinitely more style and poise.

Angeal looked up from his paperwork but didn’t lift pen from page as he raised his eyebrows.

“You were right about everything,” Genesis announced, back of hand firmly placed against his forehead, “and I have a date on Wednesday.”

Angeal did put his pen down at that, and his expression changed from a rather unflattering shock to a no less aggravating amusement when Genesis added, “And, apparently, I am a terrible friend.”

“Well we already knew that,” said Angeal. Genesis sat up at that, genuinely hurt—which was not a normal or comfortable state, as normally he did not care enough what anyone, even Angeal, said to be _hurt_ by it. (Which was probably another evidence of his being a _terrible_ friend.) Easily offended he might be, but he was currently a strong internal witness to the fact that the two emotional states were _not the same._

“Angeal!” he objected.

Angeal noticed his reaction, because as little as he liked excessive emotion he was as a general rule _not_ a terrible friend, and he flattened his hand on the desk and looked more solemn than usual. “Gen, you are my best friend and I wouldn’t trade you for anything. But you have to admit,” he added, humor stealing back into his expression, “you aren’t the sort of person who would usually be described as ‘considerate’ or ‘supportive.’”

Genesis did have to admit that, though he didn't have to _say_ as much, and sank back into his position of prostration-by-feelings. “It turns out,” he told the ceiling, “that he was avoiding us because he thought once he turned me down we’d stop being his friends.”

“Both of us?”

Genesis flipped a hand. “Package deal.” They’d certainly _arrived_ that way.

“And he thought if he avoided us long enough…?”

“I have no idea, I’d get the message without his having to say anything and it would all blow over?” Genesis shrugged. “There may not have been a coherent plan. I didn’t actually ask.” And it showed just how giddy with romance he currently was that he found that fit of emotional avoidance sort of adorable. He would probably find it annoying again in a little while. On the other hand, vulnerability. He suspected he might never get tired of seeing Sephiroth vulnerable.

Angeal shook his head. As if he was the picture of emotional openness himself.

“Anyway, I’ve been put in charge of date planning. He stipulated only that I can’t take him to _Loveless,_ because we’ve already gone.” It was sound logic.

“Mm. Also if you’re trying to woo him it might be a good idea to do things he likes rather than things you like.” So was that, unfortunately.

“That would be easier if he had any leisure activities! We can hardly spend all our dates in the training rooms. Shut up,” he added when Angeal flashed a grin at the idea. Note to self: Sephiroth was likely to attempt to blur the line between date and spar. More than Genesis already had. Was this acceptable? No, because then spars between all three of them might become strained, and those were fun. On the other hand, in a sufficiently romantically charged fight, even if you lost you won.... “Help me brainstorm.”

Angeal shook his head. “Oh no, this part has to be all you.” He grinned. “I’m happy for you, but you can’t always lean on me, you know. Have some pride.” He got up, shuffled some papers around.

“I hate you,” Genesis said, and then as Angeal came out from behind the desk and walked past him, leaving his office to Genesis, “Where are you off to?”

Angeal paused in the exit and glanced over his shoulders. “I have some errands to run, and while I’m out I want to make sure Sephiroth knows that if the two of you break up, I’ll still be friends with him.” He left.

Genesis appreciated that Angeal hadn’t said ‘when.’ Statistics were not in his favor. He was acutely aware that having won a date did not necessarily mean he had captured his intended forever, or guarantee him the opportunity to get his hands in the man's hair let alone anywhere else. Or even a second outing. But if his determination was not legendary then it _should_ be. He’d spent seven years pressuring Sephiroth to acknowledge him; he was hardly going to back down now.

Which meant he had a perfect first date to plan. One that did not involve _Loveless._

…hm.

-

Shinra Company never slept, but most of its white-collar employees went home at night, especially the ones with their own offices. Which meant that the lounge on the fifty-ninth floor with the comfy leather couches was usually just about empty by seven-thirty or eight.

Zack was technically allowed here any time; it was just below the restricted levels and SOLDIER were considered fairly upper-tier employees by default due to their necessarily high clearance. But Seconds and Thirds who bothered the actual fancy people by hanging around here in uniform got unofficial demerits according to Kunsel, and he wasn’t blowing his chance of making First for the sake of sofas!

Tonight there was literally nobody using any of them—actually Zack thought the place was empty right up until he was half a second from flopping back onto a couch, when he spotted a blob of magenta, moving slightly as it stopped looking at _him_.

Commander Rhapsodos was standing by the up-only elevator that led to the restricted levels, ostentatiously checking the time. Zack’s immediate reaction was to be guiltily apologetic for being late to a mission, except he didn’t have anywhere to be and definitely not anywhere Rhapsodos-related. Too late to pretend he hadn’t noticed him, though, and ignoring people was rude. “Hey,” he said, jogging over with a polite nod. “Something running late?”

Genesis turned toward him with that weird slowness that had nothing to do with poor reflexes. “I,” the Commander said grandly, “have a second date.”

Zack was momentarily tongue-tied by the gravitas of this announcement, but decided that no matter how high-ranking he was and how much drama he projected, the right thing to say to a friend of a friend who had a date hadn’t actually changed. “Congratulations!” he said. “First one went well, huh?”

“Splendidly.” He might have said more, but at that point the elevator went _ding._

The doors opened and out came—well, Sephiroth. But in _clothes._

Zack did not actually care about clothes—Shinra issued him a comfortable, sturdy uniform that looked cool, and he had three of them and tried to keep them laundered enough that he didn’t smell, and considered this the best possible system for being dressed—but that didn’t mean he was capable of not noticing when his General came out of an elevator wearing _a suit_. It should have made him look like a Turk, and it sort of did, but—he didn’t know, the cut was different? And the fabric, definitely, it was like…a darker shade of black. Also instead of a tie he had a silver scarf threaded around his shirt collar.

He looked smaller without the armored shoulders. Which wasn’t to say _small_ because he was still the tallest guy Zack had ever met, but still less epically looming. “Excellent,” said Commander Rhapsodos. “You aren’t even late.”

Sephiroth’s mouth quirked slightly to one side and he glanced at Zack, who was immediately aware of his own staring, and felt kind of bad. He grinned and offered a thumbs-up. Sephiroth raised his eyebrows, nodded almost invisibly, and turned back to Genesis. “I feel ridiculous,” he stated.

“You look positively dapper. A feast for the eyes. Come along.” Commander Rhapsodos stepped in, pressed a kiss to the hinge of Sephiroth’s jaw, hooked his arm proprietarily around Sephiroth’s elbow, and started to conduct him toward the bank of normal elevators that ran down to ground level. All of which Sephiroth bore with no more reaction than a faintly sardonic expression.

“I don’t think there’s actually a restaurant in Midgar that would refuse to seat me in my usual uniform.”

Genesis sniffed and tapped the elevator call button. “There’s the arrogance we all know and love. And I’ve told you, it can’t be a _uniform_ if you’re the only one who wears it. It’s more of a _costume_.” Actually, now that Zack thought about it, he was wearing different clothes under that red coat of his than normal? Not the First uniform? It was still black, he hadn’t really noticed, but yeah. Huh.

“It’s my uniform. I wear it uniformly.”

“If a cadet came to training without his shirt, he’d get a reprimand for being _out of unif._ ” Genesis was cut off mid-word by the closing of the elevator door. Little blinky lights proclaimed that the elevator was on its way downward.

Zack stared for several seconds after the apparition of his most intimidating superior officers transformed into a bickering couple, then shook himself out of it with a hard blink. Followed by the dawning of a realization.

“…this is why Angeal has been punishing me for the last month, isn’t it?”

-

Genesis kissed his way over the threshold, what would normally have been his curiosity about how Sephiroth kept his private space nowhere to be found. Not when Sephiroth had spent the entire show with the back of his hand pressed against his knee as if challenging him to keep his attention on the stage, not when this was a third date ending in an invitation into his date’s apartment. (And he didn’t care how much of a cliché that was, or that Sephiroth had very possibly gotten it out of a dating advice book aimed at fifteen-year-old girls, except no, he did care about that, it was _glorious._ )

The same singularity of attention persisted as the door closed behind them and automatically locked, and the hand at the small of his back steered him away from it. Genesis couldn’t keep his hands to himself, so it was fortunate he wasn’t expected to just now. That long white throat was _his_ to kiss, and no one else’s, no one else ever before. _Oh, Goddess,_ he thought, _mine._ He bit back the word, suspecting Sephiroth would not appreciate the sentiment. _(But maybe he **would**.)_

They spilled over the neatly made bed, their coats abandoned somewhere in the outer room, and Genesis stripped off his gloves and flung them at a wall, unable to believe he still had them on when Sephiroth’s mysterious decision to never wear a shirt ever was paying such dividends. There were scars here and there under his fingertips, but very faint, doing nothing to mar the smoothness of star-pale skin.

As Sephiroth reached up, ran his fingers back through Genesis’ hair to cup around his skull, a cautious gesture rendered by the hint of wonder in his eyes into something nearly reverent, Genesis understood suddenly what Angeal had meant, warning him not to undertake this lightly. He had handed Sephiroth the power to humiliate him by revealing his attraction, and to hurt him by professing romantic intent, but this. This was Sephiroth offering up the power to _destroy_ him.

It would be _so terribly easy_ to use.

Genesis twined silver silk around his fingers, and lowered his head to lick his way into a gently smiling mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the expression Sephiroth has in the Crisis Core version of the Nibelheim Incident, looking up at Jenova, right before Cloud stabs him? That is approximately the look I want you to picture. 
> 
> I calculate this relationship has only about an 80% chance of going horribly, horribly wrong! And only 50% of ending up with the world significantly destroyed. Which is in both cases an improvement on the canon, so--success!
> 
> I will never stop laughing about Sephiroth's shirtlessness. What think?


End file.
